Caitlin edged further around, enough to see the two speakers in question. One was a broad-shouldered female with the tan and green insignia on her cape that denoted assignment in France.
“Well-marked is one thing, well-spoken quite another,” the female said. Her arms and a luxurious set of whiskers performed a rather sketchy version of amused-interest before settling into the more socially neutral posture of polite-reserve. “He is so newly emerged, he is bound to be still dripping, and the young always make the most interesting mistakes. I have no doubt Oppuk will strip him clean of all vithrik and send him diving back into his birth-pool.”
The female’s conversational companion was a scarred older male missing much of his nap and wearing no halfcape, which meant he was probably a military commander stationed somewhere on the planet. “Never underestimate Pluthrak,” the male said. “They are capable of thinking six different things behind the same posture with never a whisker out of place, not unlike these wily humans. If he is true to his line, he might do very well here.”
Hmmm. When she’d heard about the new officer entering the scene, she’d been so preoccupied with her own personal situation that she hadn’t really thought through all the political implications. She still thought Kinsey’s reverie of using Pluthrak as a wedge against Narvo was just that—a reverie, and one likely to be dangerous to the dreamer. But she should observe this individual for herself so she could report back to her father. Each new kochan that sent representation to Earth complicated a situation already complex beyond the comprehension of most humans. Competition between Jao factions had never improved humanity’s condition so far, but . . .
Things could change, maybe. The truth was, she admitted, she knew very little about Pluthrak. No human did, so far as she knew. The most legendary of the Jao kochan, it was also the most mysterious.
* * *
“You’re Caitlin Stockwell, aren’t you?” a human voice said behind her.
Startled, she turned to meet the eyes of a human clad in a trim dark-blue jinau uniform, the red stripe across his chest bright as a cardinal. “Yes,” she said. “I’m afraid I don’t recognize you, Mr.—?”
“Ed Kralik,” he said, holding out his hand. The man was of medium height with a muscular frame. He was somewhere in his early forties, she estimated. His obviously fit and vigorous body made him seem younger, but that was offset by some prematurely graying hair. Quite a handsome man, in fact, in an understated sort of way.
“Major General Kralik, actually, at your service.”
She recognized the name, now. Kralik was one of the highest-ranked human officers in the jinau forces. There were three major generals, each in command of a division. Her father, if she remembered correctly, thought well of this one.
“Hardly at my service,” she said, allowing him to take her hand in his callused one for only a brief second, then releasing it. She brushed at an imaginary speck on her silver gown. “Not when you’re wearing that uniform.”
His salt-and-pepper hair was cut almost as close as the velvety nap on a Jao’s skin, so that he seemed more like one of them than not. He straightened his shoulders and one corner of his mouth quirked upward. “Strange comment coming from a member of the First Family.”
“We don’t consider ourselves that,” she said, feeling her face warm. This was why she usually avoided parties—she never knew what to say to people. Either they wished to cultivate her good opinion because of her political connections, or they ran the other way as soon as they realized she was a notorious collaborator’s daughter. The situation with men was even worse, since sexual interest often complicated the situation further.
She lifted her chin. “Servitude under the Jao was forced upon my father. He never sought it out, and it’s certainly no honor.”
She regretted saying it, as soon as the words came out. Kralik was being pleasant, and she had no reason to sneer at him. She realized she was more tense than she’d even thought.
“And it’s supposed to be different for me? Or any of us?” His eyes were gray, like clouds sweeping inland over a stormy sea. But he seemed more relaxed than offended. “We all do what we must, Miss Stockwell, whether we like it or not.”